


Faithfully Dangerous Part Three: The Heart That Beats is Yours Inside Me

by blessedharlot



Series: Faithfully Dangerous [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Artistic cutting, BDSM, Bad Jokes, Blood, Bondage, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Canon Compliant, Catharsis, Consensual Kink, Consensual Violence, Cutting, Dom Natasha, Dom/sub, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Kink, Orgasm, PIV Sex, Porn, Porn with Feelings, Redemption, Risk Aware Consensual Kink, Rough Sex, Sex, Sharing a Bed, Smut, Sub Bucky Barnes, Top Natasha, Top Natasha Romanov, Trauma Recovery, consensual pain, erotic punching, metal arm sex, repentence, scalpel use
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-07
Updated: 2016-10-07
Packaged: 2018-08-16 23:08:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,335
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8121214
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blessedharlot/pseuds/blessedharlot
Summary: Nat's fingers had brushed her cleavage as she unbuttoned her shirt. Now her shirt was off and her bra was the most glori- wait. Her voice had stopped. Was he supposed to have been listening?“What?”“Sex toys. People buy them for various reasons. Some are steel.”“You mean like… this cuff?”“No.” She brought her pants down over her hips, revealing her panties. There... was lace. Bucky was getting dizzy again.“I’m talking about insertables. I used one for years. This…” She started miming something long and thick with her hands. “This curved metal wand.” She moaned for emphasis. “Hit all the right places.”“You… you masturbated… with a... metal…” He swallowed.She reached for the back of her bra strap and unhooked.-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-=-Bucky thought he and Nat were focusing on friendship now... until one recent, boundary-changing phone call (see part one of the series). So what is he to make of her sudden appearance, to whisk him away on a secret mission? What will she demand of him? Is he up to the task?





	

**Author's Note:**

> This whole series got some wonderful shaping, feedback and encouragement from writer [FrostyEmma](http://archiveofourown.org/users/FrostyEmma) \-- who, you should know, also has fabulous smut and non-smut posted.
> 
> PLEASE MIND THE TAGS. Be aware this story includes bondage, dominance and submission, erotic punching, artistic cutting and a mention of blood (all consensual).
> 
> All series titles are taken from Over The Rhine’s song, “Faithfully Dangerous.”

It gets odd, the gaps you find in your knowledge, when you’re a cryogenically age-delayed, brainwashed master assassin. Bucky just learned today that his new favorite women’s fashion in the whole wide world was called a bikini. 

He profoundly wished he could thank the person who came up with this great, great idea.

Today’s surreal, post-captivity fugitive experience also included the most enjoyable safe house he’d ever experienced… one with a secluded lake and a pier at its back door. Apparently Steve had found himself a girl with a rich family. So rich that they had real estate holdings they could pretend not to own on paper. And so here they all were - Steve’s friends plus some of Sharon’s too - all well hidden for a while, watching a sultry and vivid sunset from a very fancy patio.

Bucky had only just met the two women blessing the evening with their bikini choices. The tall one was the lithe type with an angular face and short, corkscrew hair. The dark red pattern of her bikini caressed the coppery tones of her skin. She had been introduced to Bucky as a previous colleague of Sharon’s, and he didn’t know any more than that. They were all following the unspoken rule of not asking for any details about one another that hadn’t been offered up voluntarily. The shorter, rounder woman was the friend’s sister. She had cool dark skin, a squarer jaw and long braids that swung delightfully down to her curvy hips. Bucky had heard quiet talk about the sister, something involving a missing ex-boyfriend. Her arm was in a purple sling that matched her bikini. And she had a feral look in her eyes that Bucky could understand… a skittish wariness, coupled with a fresh fire that would honestly give Bucky a moment’s pause if he had been sent to do her any harm. 

The two women currently sat with Sharon at the tables on the lake end of the tiled patio, in the sun, quietly discussing something of great importance. Bucky and Steve were hanging out nearer the house, closer to some ice chests of drinks they’d hauled out to combat the heat. Bucky looked around. The view from the patio, the view *on* the patio… not a bad hiding spot at all. 

He just wished he could relax more.

It was embarrassing how lost he was around women now. He just hadn’t figured this part out at all. Other social situations he stumbled through alright these days… but those always had the escape hatch of just withdrawing when it was too much. He could leave, or just get quiet. Him being quiet rarely rattled anybody... except Steve, if he kept it up long enough. But giving a woman an admiring look kind of pulled a person into a certain social obligation. And that obligation involved coming up with reasonable things to say. Out loud. What beautiful women want a leering quiet creep hanging around? Was he a creep now? Bucky wondered. Was he managing not-leers yet? He really wasn’t sure. He didn’t want to leer, he wanted to be a respectful guy. But there was a lot more to see these days.

And sometimes even the simplest stuff tripped him up. 

“Wait,” Bucky said quietly. “Which one is Samantha and which one is Gabby?”

“Samantha has on the red swimsuit. I’m going to guess you’ve noticed the swimsuits.”

“Steve. They’re called *bikinis*. Catch up.”

“Sorry,” Steve chuckled as he took a swig of his drink.

Sharon’s voice carried delicately across the patio. “Do you want to use a towel?”

“A towel is going to drip ALL over me. We don’t have any ziploc bags?”

“Oh! I forgot the ziploc bags. I’ll text Sam and have him add that to the list.”

“What’s the problem?” Steve had gone into solution-finding mode, Bucky could tell.

Sharon called back. “The girls want to cool off without getting in the lake. We’re looking for something fairly dry. And bigger than a single ice cube.”

Aaaaand an opening. He was torn. Should he do it? Was it weird? Probably. In an endearing way? Possibly. Try it, Buck thought to himself. Try something right now, dammit. “I’ve got something bigger.” 

He waited until everybody had turned toward him. Then he took a step over to an ice chest, pushed up his t-shirt sleeve and shoved his entire left arm into it.

The bikini-clad girls both gave a little scream of surprise, while Sharon’s jaw just dropped. Samantha doubled over laughing and Gabby smiled wide with her mouth open. Bucky didn’t look at Steve. Depending on Steve’s face, Bucky might lose his resolve... or get egged on way too far. Best not to meet his eye right now.

“Well. That’s one way to do it,” Sharon mused.

After looking on in shocked silence a few moments, Samantha teased him, “You think you can get the job done with that?”

Bucky smiled. “You willing to find out?” 

A pleasant little tension hung in the air, while Bucky’s arm cooled, and the women whispered between themselves. The sisters asked Sharon a question that Bucky couldn’t hear. Whatever Sharon’s reply was, she gave it with a warm smile.

Steve leaned close to speak quietly. “Is that comfortable?”

“Not even a little.”

Steve chuckled.

Bucky figured he had a usable chill on his arm, so he pulled it out and looked for something to catch the dripping water. Suddenly the girls were there, red Samantha at the forefront and purple Gabby behind her a few paces.

Samantha had a beach towel and started wiping the water off his arm. “Now I just have to decide where I want you to put it,” she said. “Wait, can you feel anything with this arm?”

“Absolutely not.” Bucky tried to look like he couldn’t keep a straight face. “It’s metal! How would that even work?”

Samantha gave Bucky a look up and down, and he was pretty sure he just got leered at. “Alright, I’m game.” She spun partway around and pointed to her neck. “Right here.”

Bucky cupped his palm to match her curve there and pressed his left hand gently against her skin. She drew in a sharp breath. “Okay, okay. Oh, goodness. That’s… definitely… cold!” She giggled.

“Imagine that,” Bucky offered, as he chanced a smirk at Steve. Steve was shaking his head, but he definitely had that very specific proud glint he’d get around Bucky’s recovery stuff. Weirdo. If either of the therapists he’d seen had offered him worksheets on flirting, Bucky would have been much more committed to working with them.

“Gabby,” Samantha shivered out. “Y-you gotta…” Her words got caught partway through. Gabby looked a little unconvinced.

“Apparently the experience is breathtaking,” Bucky offered. Now Sharon was right behind Gabby, shaking her head at Bucky with a smile. “Sorry I’ve only got the one.” He flipped his right hand up ineffectually. Sharon rolled her eyes.

“Okay. No, you’re warming up a little.” Samantha breathed as she stepped closer. “A little, maybe, hm?” Bucky grinned at her. She stepped away from his hand right then, though, with a look like she needed a break from the cold. She gestured for Gabby to try it.

“It’s like a really refreshing bolt of lightning,” Samantha reassured her sister.

Bucky lowered his arm and smiled at Gabby as mildly as he could. He still didn’t expect her to approach him, though. He was taken aback when she inched closer, a look in her eye like she was daring him to stay there, daring herself to do it. She had that look that little Steve would get back in the day... when some heckler or bully he’d picked a fight with stood up from wherever he was sitting, and Steve discovered just how tall the guy was. But it never deterred Steve. He would always double down, insisting on whatever his point had been, getting them into further trouble.

“You’ll want to…” Bucky mimed moving her hair, and she brushed it all over one shoulder. He lifted his arm to offer it again, this time keeping it low, with his palm facing up. She intuited what he was doing, and took his hand in hers to place it herself. She turned away from him to put his forearm across the nape of her neck, and he shifted his stance and tilted his wrist so all his forearm plates would be flat and tight against her skin. The metal touched her and she gave a little gasp.

“Ok yeah. That’s… very… refreshing.” She shook, almost from head to toe, though how much was the cold sensation and how much was nervous laughter, Bucky couldn’t tell. She smiled and stood there, eyes closed, enjoying the cool-off, while her sister silently gave Bucky flirty glances.

Somebody’s phone buzzed. 

Sharon said, “Sam wants to know if we prefer chocolate or vanilla ice cream?”

“Yes,” Bucky and Steve said together. Sharon nodded in agreement.

“Thank you,” Gabby smiled quietly. She had great dimples when she smiled. “I feel much better now.” She took her hand off his arm, and gingerly stepped away.

Her sister came sauntering back. “Is there anything still cold on that arm?” She winked and spun around to press her left shoulder against his. Bucky played along, brushing his whole arm up her back and back down again. She gasped and shivered, then grabbed hold of it and held it to the small of her back. 

“Samantha,” Gabby said shyly. “Will you help me inside, with the thing?”

“Oh yeah, sweetie,” she replied. She turned to Bucky and leaned in. “Thanks for the hand,” she smiled. She and her sister walked inside.

Bucky watched them both head inside, and turned quietly to Steve. “I really don’t know how I feel about the number of arm puns my future will hold.”

“Shameless,” somebody called out from one of the patio doors.

The sound of her voice startled him. Before even noticing what he was doing, he had immediately stuffed both his hands into the back pockets of his jeans.

“How long have you been there?” Bucky asked.

“Long enough.” Nat replied, shaking her head. “Shameless.” She turned around and walked inside. Bucky and Steve followed her.

“Come on,” Bucky muttered in protest. “I’m socializing. This is good for me.”

“Mhm.”

He worried for a moment that she was actually mad, that he had done something wrong. Then, as she flopped into a spot on a sofa, she glanced up and winked at him. And then he felt more dizzy than worried.

“Have you eaten?” She asked him her question right as Steve closed the back door.

Bucky opened his mouth to reply but Steve beat him to it. “We finished up maybe a half hour ago,” he offered helpfully. Bucky nodded his reply to Nat while Steve continued. “It’s all packed away now, but we can pull some back out and heat it up if you like.”

“No, I’m good, thank you, Steve.” She gave him a very affectionate smile. “I asked that to see if this was a good time to get Barnes’ help with something. I have a mission that will require a second operative, and he is definitely the best fit.” She gave him a look he couldn’t decipher. “Low-risk, low-threat,” she assured a wary-looking Steve, then turned back to Bucky. “But having supper in you will certainly increase our chances of success.”

She had the subtlest gleam in her eye. At least he thought he saw something there. Maybe he just wanted to. Would they talk about their last phone call? Maybe she thought it was a mistake. Maybe she regretted it. Maybe they would just pretend it didn’t happen.

He realized just then, with a lurch, that he didn’t want to pretend. He didn’t want to forget it. 

But. If she did… well. Whatever it took to be in her life.

“I’m game,” Bucky said. Whatever they talked about, he wanted to help Nat.

Steve looked hesitant. But he wasn’t going to get in the way, it seemed. “Well, if Bucky’s up for it, and you think it’s a good fit for him…” He gave Nat his best subtly stern warning face. If Romanoff was carrying him off to murder a lot of people, Bucky thought, she was sure gonna get an earful when they got back!

Five minutes later Bucky was in the front driveway with a small bag of incidentals, staring at quite possibly the most beautiful car he’d ever seen in his entire life… a dark green convertible with the sleekest, sexiest curves he thought a car could have. Nat noticed his slack-jawed expression.

“1957 Jaguar XKSS.”

Because of course that’s something Nat would rent while laying low. He smiled wide and got in.

-=-=-=-=-=-=-

“Fine,” he said. “Jesus, you’re worse than Steve. Just put it on whatever station you want.”

“This is the station I want. You’re the one that keeps changing it.”

“You both have terrible taste.”

“There’s like five jokes I could make about everyone who hangs out with *you* having bad taste,” she explained. “And I’m not making any of them.”

“You really kinda are.”

“Semantics.”

“Hmph.”

Bucky realized his cheeks were a little sore from smiling too long while arguing with her. He tried to adopt a more detached look.

Her tone of voice changed from what it had been. “How are you doing?”

“Not bad. This is by far the cushiest hiding-out gig I’ve ever had.”

“Last time we talked you said you had something weighing on you. What’s going on there?”

“Ah. That.”

“Yes, that.” 

She held the silence while he thought. As much time as he had spent thinking about this, it was odd to him that he didn’t have the right words for it yet… not even to explain it to himself, much less somebody else.

He vaguely registered a scenic green blur passing by them in the car. He opened his mouth to talk a few times, and nothing came out. Nat seemed patient. But after a while, he was even annoying himself.

“I don’t mean to be coy. I mean.” His voice sounded so thin. “It’s the obvious, is all.” If anybody could know what he meant, what he felt, it was Natalia. “I don’t know where to start.”

“You’ve already started,” Nat replied, in an encouraging tone. “You don’t need a master plan. Just keep going.”

He looked at his own hands, for a long time. Then he looked up at her, and took in all the things flitting across her face as she drove. Emotions, memories. Conviction. She didn’t reveal that much to just anybody.

She continued. “I just finished a mission taking out some terrible people, in the Singapore underground. I made a fair bit of money doing it.”

“Is that why you have the car? Is it not a rental?”

She smiled. “This is not quite a rental, but it’s not a purchase either. It’s a favor from somebody.” Nat turned off the main road. “The money I made is not mine. I have someone who helps me get it to where it belongs. Compensation. To the families of victims. Of mine.”

Bucky quietly took in what she was saying.

“You don’t need a master plan. You just… do what you can. Whenever you can.” She pulled up to a stoplight, and turned to him. “Well, that’s not quite true. A lot of the time, you do what you have to do. What you can’t not do. Not because of any outside powers forcing the choice. But because-”

“To sleep at night.” She held his gaze as he spoke. “To be able to look in a mirror.”

“Exactly.”

“How do you get the…” How would he even describe it? Would this part make sense to her? “Their activation code is gone. But...” He trailed off again. “Are you ever so turned around, that you…” That old compressed feeling was sneaking up on him again. 

He gave up talking it out. He just stretched and shook it all out of his head. 

They came to a stop in a parking lot. He was a little alarmed that he had noticed so little about how they got there. He turned to Nat, who looked so content looking back at him that his mood improved immediately.

He smiled. Then he looked up at the building next to them.

“It’s an old factory, partially renovated into condos,” she explained. “Old owners ran out of money partway through making a mess. New owners are picking up the project and running with it.”

Bucky nodded. The facade was interesting enough. People seemed to like their domiciles kinda quirky these days.

“The new owners are Russian and they also owe me a favor.”

“Nice. Mission starts with surveillance, then? With this as a base.”

“Not exactly.”

He waited patiently for more.

“The mission starts with discussing consent. Yours.”

Bucky blinked. He unfastened his seat belt and turned his entire body towards her, in an attempt to take in what she was saying. She looked… serious. His consent? He was already in the car. She must need back up. Of course he’d…

Oh. Wait, Bucky thought.

“What’s on the table to consent to?”

Nat raise an eyebrow. “The mission is that you do what I tell you to do.”

Bucky’s heart pounded in his ears. He felt flush all over. 

He held his initial answer on his tongue, to try and wait some reasonable time to say it. To maybe… ask questions first. Tease her. Play a game.

“Yes,” he blurted out.

Well, there went playing it cool. He had surprised her, or at least amused her. She took in his response and the edges of her mouth - her exquisite mouth - curled up. “Don’t you want to know what you’re agreeing to?”

He took hold of the back of her seat and leaned into her space, fixing his eyes on hers. “I’m agreeing to you giving the orders.” In his peripheral vision he saw her chest rise once, pause and fall.

“You’ll tell me if you change your mind. If I’m doing something you don’t want to do. That’s your first order.”

He kept his eyes trained on hers. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good. Come with me.”

Bucky exited the car in a daze and followed her into the unmarked side door of this half-factory/half-domicile. They walked down an unfinished hallway to an old-style freight elevator.

As he closed the grate door, she pressed the button for the third floor. She positioned herself a couple of feet to one side of the centerpoint of the elevator, giving the distinct impression that he should be a couple of feet to the other side. A polite distance away. Bucky knew that much about elevator etiquette. So, that’s the spot where he stood, reflecting on what the rest of the evening might bring.

Suddenly she was in his arms, her legs wrapped around his waist, grinding into him, teeth on his earlobe. It was not the beginning he was expecting, but he was certainly not going to complain. Hands groped for hair, lips parted and tongues searched. Somehow they slammed against the wall of the elevator-

And then his hand was being pulled off her ass, his face shoved away. And as the elevator buzzed at them, and the door opened, a relatively composed Natalia left him there and strode down a hallway to the right.

He stood in the elevator for a moment, stunned. He couldn’t decide whether that had been an unfair move. Then he realized that may be one of the kinder things she did to him tonight. He and his giddy smile followed after her, before he got in trouble.

He caught up with her as she reached a door about 30 yards down from the elevator. The hallways around them needed paint, and some light fixtures.

As she slipped a key in the lock, she turned to give him a reproachful look for falling so far behind. It was then he noticed her lipstick was smudged and smeared. He found that quite agreeable. He tried to look contrite. He thought he was probably failing.

She opened the door and he followed inside.

Her boots thudded on concrete, and the interior walls were unfinished through most of the condo. But one look at the bare guts of the place suggested the presence of all the plumbing and electrical fixtures necessary for comfort. And the temperature was comfortable. A quick glance revealed no furniture.

“Mishka said they’re going to put down black hardwood floors.” Natasha had walked across a very empty living area and around bare studs and pipes to an incomplete, kitchen-like spot, where she had gotten someone to install a fridge.

“Hm.” He paid close attention to her bending down toward the bottom shelf of the fridge.

“Throw in some black metal track lighting.” She walked back toward him opening a single bottle. “That’ll blend right in with the concrete outer wall... the old iron window frames. People will pay big bucks for that.” She pressed the mouth of the cold bottle to her lips and took a swig.

“Big bucks for a place that looks old?” Bucky asked.

She swallowed. “What’s wrong with old?”

She smiled at him with her whole face, lit up and warm and inviting. It was still inviting as she set her jaw and began appraising him in that arousing, terrifying way. She knew him in a way no one else did, no one else could. Whatever answer she would come to would be the right one, he thought, as his pants felt tighter.

She nodded her head to indicate a direction. “Take your shoes off and stand over there.” She took another big swig of liquid. He stared at her as long as he dared as she licked her lips, then moved to do as he was told. 

He walked into a space that might be a bedroom someday. Against one wall, Nat had put a roomy futon with dark sheets. Mmm mattress, Bucky thought. Good. And off came his shoes. Across from the futon there was a folding table, which Bucky immediately ascertained would not hold their weight while having sex. She probably brought it to hold the items in the black duffel bags she had already placed on it. That made more sense.

Stand, she had told him to stand. Bucky stood.

And suddenly Nat was next to him, lifting his shirt over his head and throwing it in a corner. He tried to control the sudden uptick in his breathing rate as she carefully but quickly unbuttoned his jeans and dropped both pants and underwear to his ankles. She immediately stood back up and motioned for him to take them off.

Her hands on him again, and off just as quickly. His hunger was a palpable ache that threatened to overwhelm him.

The air in the room brushed his bare skin. He was very aware of her fully clothed body visiting the table, as he gathered his own clothes and threw them in a corner. Being naked, while someone else was clothed, brought a swirl of scattered memories that washed over him and left just as quickly. There was a big difference. This was Nat.

She returned with something in her hand, and gave it to him.

It was some kind of strap, about eight inches long and 2 inches wide. One side had a thin layer of polished steel. The other side was a very soft leather. There was a locking hasp on it. 

A cuff. For him. 

For a moment, another wave of emotions and memory reeled around his head. Restraints. Being restrained. But before long he was distracted from them again. It was Natalia, and she had put the cuff in his hands. Something very important was different this time, somehow.

Just as he came to his realization, she told him, “Put that on your right wrist.”

Yes. That was the first thing he felt in response to her command. A full body yes.

His awareness narrowed again. For the moment there was just him, wrapping the steel and soft leather around his flesh-and-bone wrist and pressing it against his body to connect the ends together. He stared at the closed cuff, shining at him. Hey, his wrists matched each other better this way, he thought randomly.

Natalia was back at his side, with a bag in one hand and something glinting in the other. But he was distracted by her eyes, softly examining his face. Nat here, right here, looking at him, really seeing him. Asking him silently how he was. Nat taking care of him. This might be the goofiest smile he’d ever had on his face, he thought. Right here and now, looking at Nat. He didn’t care. It was Nat. He was confused and disoriented and so happy.

With one hand she reached for his cuff and put a small padlock on it. Then something else metallic was pulled from the bag. And then there was a chain attached to his wrist, a chain thrown over an iron rail he hadn’t seen above his head. A chain now being fastened to the concrete wall behind him.

His mind reeled fast and hard. He wasn’t even sure he was still on his feet. A hundred memories, a hundred rooms he didn’t want to be in rushed past him, nearly shattering his bones with the force they carried. A hundred memories, a hundred rooms, a hundred times, restrained. 

He looked up at the cuff he had put on. The one he had chosen to put on. Freely. He realized… he wasn’t in any of those other rooms. He wasn’t in those memories. They were still nearby, somehow. They weren’t gone. But he wasn’t in any of them. He was with Nat. He turned to search and immediately found her, standing next to him. He was here, with Nat.

Both of her hands cradled his face. He looked down to see his feet still under him. Yes, he was still standing. He looked up at his extended arm. Just the one wrist, held. Wrapped in silver. Suspended above his head. The other wrist free.

Nat was saying something. He missed it. Shit.

“I’m sorry, ma’am,” he said breathlessly. “Pardon?”

There was a tiny little surprise flitted across her face, and she smiled. “You’re so polite.”

Bucky spoke without thinking. “My mother would be very upset with me if I wasn’t.”

They shared a small laugh. She stroked his face, both hands still cradling it.

“Tell me how you’re doing.”

Bucky nodded. “Yes. I’m yes. I mean…” That’s not an appropriate answer to the question, he thought. Something more like… ready. But, he didn’t want to use that word. That was part of The Words. And that wasn’t where his head was. It wasn’t accurate.

He was… he was...

“I’m willing.” He looked deep into her eyes. She gazed back affectionately.

And then she pulled back her right arm and punched him in the gut.

He struggled for air. And then he struggled for something else, as his attention slipped into moments past.

A punch. Warning. Warning! Someone inside his guard. Why? What’s the mission? What?

Wait… Nat was here. Shit! Was he hurting her again? No, please, no. God, anything but that. Not Nat. Wait. 

Wait.

Breathe.

She stood next to him. Not fighting, not running. Nat, yes. His wrist. Yes. Now he remembered.

Her face came back into focus, and she punched him in the thigh.

This time he kept his head and felt more of the pain. Dammit, she could hit. He wasn’t dangling from his arm, so he must have kept his feet. Yes. He pressed both feet into the concrete for confirmation.

She had circled around and punched him in his right glute. He heard his own sharp cry and leaned forward, trying not to put weight on the chain. He willed himself to keep attentive to the pain. Don’t numb out. Don’t go anywhere else, Bucky. Nat’s here. Stay with Nat.

She was back in front of him, and met his gaze as she popped him in his exposed right side. Just enough force to bruise those ribs… she knew how to avoiding breaking his bones. Just enough to leave a sharp stabbing feeling with the next few breaths. Then she punched again below that, right in the flank.

“Jesus Christ, Natalia!” He strained to choke out the words. Talk to her, Bucky. Stay here. Breathe. “You’re right-handed!”

“Uh-huh.”

“Why do you have such a *brutal* left hook?”

She let out a short laugh. “Well, you see. There was this guy. I worked with him a while.” A punch to the same thigh as before. He exhaled through the pain. She came close to his face to emphasize her next point. “And he was really obnoxious.”

“Uh-huh.” He had a feeling he knew where this was going. He grunted through a blow to the other thigh. He knew he couldn’t dodge them. He didn’t really want to -- the pain was loosening something up, giving him more space to occupy within himself. He just had to fight the impulse to avoid the blows. Because dammit, they hurt.

“And I really, really wanted to punch him. Pretty much every day.” Bucky started giggling. He couldn’t help it. Nat continued. “And, you know, arms are pretty accessible for random ‘accidental’ blows. But it was in my best interest not to hit him on his left arm,” she carefully explained. “So I had to come up with another strategy.”

Bucky’s giggling got out of control. “Oh my god, he sounds like a tool!”

“Did you say ‘tool’?”

“Sharon taught me that word. Am I using it right?”

“Yes. You are, in fact, a tool.”

“Good.” Bucky started giggling again and he couldn’t stop.

“You’ve gone silly.”

“I’m high on life.” He’d lifted his left arm too far and she got a punch into that flank too. He grunted in a weak protest. He took ragged breaths through the pain and began to feel a buzz on the edge of his consciousness. Bucky wasn’t going to pull on his restraint yet though. He wasn’t. He wasn’t going to give her that satisfaction. At least not yet. 

She put a hand on the nape of his neck, and abruptly pulled him in for a kiss. Bucky knew right away she wasn’t pulling away any time soon, not this time. This wasn’t a tease. She meant it. 

They drank deep of one another, lingering in an unhurried knowledge of each other rising up from being buried. The heat of her body swelled through her clothes to meet his skin. His fingers searched first for her hair, then tenderly followed the path of her spine down to the small of her back.

She put an inch or two of space between their lips, to catch her breath and look into his eyes again. Then their lips met and they fit together again, perfectly.

He reluctantly let go as she ended the kiss and put a couple feet of distance between them. His whole body buzzed with pain and bliss. 

The look on her face changed subtly. He couldn’t place what she was thinking. But she reached for the top button of her shirt and he grew hot with lust. Yes please, both of them naked, her skin against his. Yes. Please. 

Please.

And then he had a thought, and his blood ran cold. 

The places. The places he hurt her. Both times.

He had tried so hard to forget again. He’d successfully avoided thinking about those two awful, horrific events every single time he thought of Nat. He kept those individual cells of memory locked away, quarantined from every moment they shared together these days, as friends, now as more. He couldn’t face it. He didn’t know how he would. After so much shame, and so many sleepless nights about it, he locked it away. It was unmanageable. And here there were. No way around it. Everything would come crashing down. Everything. Maybe she had fooled him. Maybe this is why they were here. Maybe she didn’t really want him, maybe this was all payback. 

His whole body stiffened and he closed his eyes to fight back tears. He felt her hand on his face. He shook his head and kept his eyes squeezed shut as a response.

She waited.

“James.”

There’s nowhere else to run from it, Bucky. Just open your eyes and face it. Face her.

He aimed his eyes for the floor and slowly opened them. Then he made himself look at her. She had been looking at him. With… sadness. And care. He kept looking for the hate. Surely it was there. He must be missing it. He missed things sometimes.

She opened one more button of her shirt, and slipped it off her left shoulder.

There was the scar from his attack. The second one.

“Kiss me there,” she instructed quietly.

As she settled in next to him, he slowly wrapped his free arm around her waist. He tilted his head closer, and imagined where his bullet ripped through her. He steadied his ragged breathing, and willed his shame-stiff muscles to move. He tried to imagine how the tissue in front of him grew back. 

Of all the emotions coursing through him, filling him, overwhelming him - the shame, the rage, the grief - the most unexpected thing he found within himself now was a little thread of gratitude. For the knot of scar tissue he was looking at, and the tendrils that spread from it. The tissue that closed up her wound. The way she grew back from it. He started at the thinnest line toward the top, and kissed there. He could taste tears as he moved down toward the thicker part of her scar. He kissed, and kissed again.

He sniffed, and breathed, and met her eyes.

“Lift me up,” she said.

He reached his arm down to the back of her thighs and lifted her up, pressing her knees into the pain in his gut. She put one hand on his left shoulder, and used her other arm to lift her shirt, again on the left side.

This one was larger… the scar. The memory too. And the shame. She’d had to save herself that time. She had no help from anyone distracting him or slowing him down. He’d come so close to succeeding in that mission. Oh Jesus, he’d come close. If he had managed to…

No. Stop. No, he had failed. Don’t go there, Bucky.

She’s here. She’s right here. Not dead. 

He put his forehead to her belly, and he felt himself shake with the tears. He didn’t know what he would have done. If he had succeeded with this. He knew how many others there were, how many completed missions. He remembered all the successes. 

But he didn’t have to live with succeeding at this. He reminded himself of that. She saved herself. She kept going. She even made a life.

He came back to her, in front of him. He imagined the scar tissue he couldn’t see, stretching through her, from her back to her front. The work she did to recover. She rebuilt herself.

He started at one of the two thickest ridges of the scar, and peppered it with kisses. He did the same for the other ridge of the center knot. He followed the major outline around the bottom curve of the mark, and finally covered the outlying threads with his lips, repeatedly.

He looked up at her. She smiled with watery eyes. He felt himself relax.

And then she flicked him once on his ear.

“Put me down.”

He sat her down and she resumed unbuttoning her shirt. She talked casually as she worked. 

“Did you know that there’s a whole line of sex toys that are made of steel?”

Her fingers had brushed her cleavage as she unbuttoned her shirt, and now her shirt was off and her bra was the most glori- wait. Her voice had stopped. Was he supposed to have been listening?

“What?”

“Sex toys. People buy them for various reasons. Some are steel.”

“You mean like… this cuff?”

“No.” She brought her pants down over her hips, revealing her panties. There... was lace. Bucky was getting dizzy again.

“I’m talking about insertables,” she said, as she leaned a hand into his sore belly to get her feet out of her pants. Bucky grunted, and noticed her boots were already gone. “I used one for years. This…” She started miming something long and thick with her hands. “This curved metal wand.” She moaned for emphasis. “Hit all the right places.”

“You… you masturbated… with a... metal…” He swallowed.

She reached for the back of her bra strap and unhooked. 

Bucky was nothing now but unbridled need for her.

Nat’s hands brushed the green lace across her breasts as she extracted herself from her bra. Her fingers hooked into underwear, and soon that lace was gone too.

Natalia. Gloriously bare. Looking back at him with sharp hunger, and a smile. 

He adored the fierce grace she still carried in her shoulders. He followed the angles of her neck as they slid down into the contours of her breasts. She stepped closer, and he watched her abs shift her hips as she walked, the sleek lines of her legs slipping out of his constricted field of vision.

She was the same, and different. The same strength and determination packed into every single muscle curve. Her breasts were heavier than he remembered. She had increased the already formidable power in her thighs, and her bush was now trimmed very short. 

And there was something else different… some new ease in her. She was even more now than she had been. Some new contentment radiated out from her bones. 

Same kissability, every single everywhere.

She stood there watching him as he drank her in from head to toe.

“Oh my God,” he whispered. “Natalia. How are you more perfect? More perfect. How is that possible? I don’t understand.”

“Living well. I need your arm now.”

“Oh. Yes.” He swallowed again. “I had forgotten the topic at hand. Or, topic at arm.” She laughed and he winced. “Dammit.” Now he was punning himself.

With a lingering grin, Nat lined up almost as if they would tango next. Her left leg wound around his, with her left hip pressed up against him. She threw her left arm around his neck for support and brought her lips close to his. He leaned in to kiss her and let his hand wander. He ran his fingers across her back, palmed her hips, reaching up to cup her breast and pressing his fingers in… just enough… for her to gasp into his mouth.

Then he ran a finger down to her belly button and paused. She remembered. She looked down and aligned herself just a little bit differently. He shaped his arm a certain way, and the plates were flat and tight the way they’d want them to be. He slipped his hand gently down between her legs.

“Fuck, you’re dripping wet.”

“Punching you is very arousing.”

“Huh. Good to know.”

He remembered something too. As soon as he got down there. As he cautiously slipped between her folds, reaching in… he remembered, and carefully arched his palm away. Not yet, don’t use it yet.

She held very still at first, letting him do the work of remembering, of reading, of exploring. He watched her face as he moved, catching tiny muscle movements and gauging when to change moves and when to keep going. Either she wasn’t as good at withholding her responses as she once was, or she just didn’t care to anymore, because he felt shuddering replies to several of his choices in the muscles to either side of his hand, and pleasure washed across her face.

She rested her head on his chest after a while, and he pressed his cheek against her hair, still rhythmically moving in and out of her, brushing up against her front wall in the process. She ran her free hand up and down his arm as he worked, tracing lines and cupping curves. He could almost feel her distinct fingertips, he was so aware of where her body was and what she was doing.

She still made plenty of noise… even more so now. She clearly saw no need to muffle herself anymore. The whimpers and moans were coming faster, and he could make a guess at how far she was from coming. Eventually she rode his hand, doing the work herself, pressing her forehead to his shoulder and then flinging her head back. Bucky struggled to keep his arm surfaces at angles that wouldn’t cause an unwanted pain.

Finally she frantically scrabbled for purchase on his arm with her nails, trying to move his arm, growling, greed apparently taking her words from her. He slowly, slowly changed the angle of his wrist and moved his palm in. She found just the pressure she wanted, and threw both her arms up to his neck as she desperately rocked. 

When she threw her head back again, she gave a long howl. Bucky watched her open mouth in adoration, as the sound eventually rumbled down to a pulsing scream.

The strain in her muscles ebbed back down, with an occasional aftershock bringing another shiver, another short shriek vibrating through his shoulder. 

Soon she fell against him, limp, only hanging on by her hands now locked together behind his head.

He stood very still, savoring her draped against him, savoring his arm still cradled between her legs. He listened to the rhythm of her breathing mingling with his own.

“Oh my God,” he marveled.

She slowly came out of her reverie. “I’m still quite loud.”

“That is… in every way… very, very fine.”

She laughed and touched his cheek, clearly gaining some strength back. She climbed him again, her arms locked around his neck and her legs around his waist. This time wasn’t a tease either, he knew.

He heard the chain screech itself taut as he found himself only one arm to embrace her with. But he had enough slack to bend his knees, get his pelvis up underneath her and lean back. He reached his left arm around her hip and guided his cock inside her. She moaned, loud and long in his ear, and he shuddered. 

He didn’t ask, he just started pulling her up and down his cock. She whimpered in approval, locking eyes with him. Slow and sure, like clockwork, like a steady beating heart, like a dance, like their dance. Finally inside her again, after far too long. 

He lost track of time, their rhythm the only marker of anything that mattered.

He moved to catch her earlobe in his mouth. With access now to his fleshier shoulder, she decided to bite him, hard. He let out a holler, taking in the pain and picking up his speed in rocking her. Her hair looked like his felt - clinging to neck and cheek with ecstatic sweat. 

Nat huffed dizzily, and paused for a breather by pulling herself off his cock and climbing further up his body to bring her breasts up to his face. He craned to catch a nipple in his mouth and she curled her back away from him, keeping them both out of reach. She straightened out, and he reached for one again, and she leaned back again. He mock glared while she giggled.

Finally she fell into his face and smothered him. He nuzzled deeply, at first burying his face in her. Then he nibbled and nipped at the tender skin. He finally leaned back, caught a coveted prize, suckled a moment, then bit hard as he dare. She whimpered deliciously and stayed there savoring the feel.

She climbed down then, getting on her own two feet, and looked at him like the cat that swallowed the canary. Nat turned her back to him, but she didn’t walk away. 

She watched him over her shoulder as she slowly stepped back toward him, finally pressing against him. She then rubbed herself up against him at an agonizingly slow pace.

He let out a long, heartfelt whimper. The chain creaked again.

She pressed her hips more firmly against him, and angled herself down until she was just right. Then she reached through her legs and slipped his cock back inside.

Then she started rocking, hard, against his hips.

All he could do was moan and gasp, getting wobbly with bliss. “Ohhh God.” He willed himself to stay on his feet. That was the only goddamn option here, he told himself. Stay on your feet, Buck. “Oh Jesus. Oh fuck!”

He bent over and wrapped his arm around her waist, nearly bringing his forehead to rest on her back.

“CanIcomepleasedearGodma’amplease-”

“You may come.”

Wait. He wanted one more thing. Dare he ask? He took one shuddering breath.

“Say my name. Please say my name.”

She gasped, and reached back to get an iron grip on his hair. She arched back toward him and spoke.

“James. James! James, come inside me. That’s an order, James.”

And he exploded into a thousand silent colors. A thousand water droplets hanging in the sky. Flying, soaring, opening. Floating wide. 

The only thing that existed was his heart, and Nat’s.

And everything that there was sank gently, slowly, peacefully, like a perfect stone in a still lake.

He breathed. And breathed again. He felt Nat underneath him. He was aware of the room again. His arm shifted against her hip.

“If I move,” she asked, still bent over in front of him, “are you gonna fall?”

“Um… give me a minute.”

She chuckled, reaching back and tousling his hair. He took a breath, and then another. Then he wiggled his toes. Finally he pulled himself upright by his still bound wrist, eventually reaching up with his left hand to grab the chain and hang from that point.

She righted herself, and turned around to look at him.

“What are you smirking at?” Bucky tried to pretend disdain as he spoke, but his voice was still thready and weak. He barely had the power to give her a hard time. It was tragic, he thought.

“I’m smirking at you. You’re a mess.”

“Well, yeah.”

She walked away.

His voice came out as a mutter. “Wait, where are you going?” He tried not to get nervous. He was pretty sure she wouldn’t leave him here to die. But, then. He did still kinda owe her big time.

She didn’t respond. He waited. Eventually she came back into view with a very large bottle of sports drink.

“Hydration is important.”

He smiled and took the bottle, able to stand of his own volition now. Nat was doing that appraising look again. He was gonna need maybe ten more minutes if she wanted anything out of him that would make the grade.

She offered up a different idea. “I’m going to mark you.”

Bucky smiled wide. That sounded fantastic. “Okay.”

“I’m going to mark you the way I want to, and I’m going to draw blood while I do it.”

That hazy buzz showed up again around the edge of his consciousness. He still wasn’t sure what she meant. But yes. “Mmmmkay,” he grinned.

She stepped away again, and headed back to the table. He stood there and enjoyed his high and his cold drink and his cuff, still soft against his skin.

He finished the drink and tossed the empty bottle out of the way. She came back with a bottle of something else and some gauze. For a few moments he got lost, his attention occupied with tracing every line of her face with his eyes. Then there was a smell.

Alcohol smell.

A hundred terrible procedures in haunted rooms spooled past his vision, spinning across the furthest reaches of his consciousness. He decided he’d just let them be. For some reason, right now, they couldn’t hurt him. Eventually the cascade of memories reached back to a battlefield. Dressing wounds. Morita’s face. Steve’s face looking on, concerned. Then further back, Steve’s thinner face trying not to wince, while his mother applied something to yet another gash. Mrs. Rogers’ kitchen table.

And then Nat. Right here. She had wiped down his right arm… which was now lower, his chain reached farther. He had just noticed. His upper arm was parallel to the ground, and she was about to touch something to it that was in her hand. It flashed silver, and he decided to look back at her face. 

Nat’s scalpel. Not anybody else’s. It was okay. He was right where he was supposed to be. Yes.

He watched her mouth as she made the first cut. And the next one. He breathed, feeling his lungs expand. The delicate sharpness of the pain in his arm was exquisite. A tiny line that bloomed into so much more. And as she made another cut, and another - each time her shoulders gave away the care with which she chose her strokes - as she made the cuts, the strangest image flitted through Bucky’s head. Some half-remembered story of angels touching sacred coals to human lips, on God’s orders. That story melded with Natalia. She was the sacred coal in the hands of angels and she was the lips and she was the angel and she was the decision of God and somehow her fingertips blessed his skin with fire. 

She pulled the scalpel away and met his gaze. He looked as she brushed a white cloth across her work. Under a slight smear of blood, she had carved “James” into his skin, in a beautiful script. While his face stayed open and relaxed, he felt a few tears fall. She went back to work again, just below “James” and he looked at her face again. He wanted to know everything about her face. The exact color of her now nude lips. The exact crease of each eyelid. He etched them in his mind as she etched on his arm. He had the nerve to glance this time. “Bucky.”

His attention unspooled across the best possible neighborhood in his own head. Prime real estate. Great view, no worries. No pests. Just lingering blooms of good stuff coming from Nat’s hands.

Nat stepped around him and began working on his back. The same fire, the same exquisite burning. Something he didn't need, something troublesome, was being burned away. As she worked from behind, she wrapped one arm around him and pressed that hand to his heart. He put one hand over hers. He was… here, but not here. He was very aware of every part of his body Natalia had touched tonight.

She was somehow… somehow touching him so deeply... she was reaching through his skin to grab hold of who he was underneath.

Then it came, with an unsettling quietness. 

It rushed up out of his core like a river overrunning its banks. He wanted to avoid it but he couldn’t. He couldn’t hold it at bay. This wasn't something outside him. It wasn't what was done to him. It was what he did. 

“I… I’m sorry,” he whispered.

“What’s that, sweetheart?”

He swallowed back some of what was stuck in his throat.

“I’m sorry.”

She heard him that time. She pressed her arm tighter against his chest, and she started another cut.

“I’m so sorry. I’m sorry. I’m… so sorry.” he said plaintively.

The fire moved faster across his back.

“I’m so... fucking... sorry.” He felt his chest heave. He tried to stay still. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“I know,” she said gently.

“I’m so fucking sorry!” He felt his lip quiver.

“Hang on. Through one more line, James. Wait on that edge. Wait there for me.”

He held his breath as she breathed one more line into him. Whatever it was, it completed some circuit. Some door he tried to keep closed.

“I’m sorry. Please! I’m so sorry!”

“I know, love.”

“I’m… I’m…”

Something broke open inside. His whole body wrenched with sobs. 

“Let me take it back, let me take it all back please. Every damned thing. Let me take it all back. Please. Please!”

He shook with shame. Some last point of tension let go of him and he collapsed.

“I have to take it back!”

Natalia’s arms were around him. He heard himself wail.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry! I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.” He prayed apologies to anyone who might listen, anyone who might believe him. “Let me take it back!”

He struggled to get air. He felt Natalia’s hands on his face and hair. He cried, and kept crying. He being being rocked, Nat was rocking him.

“Please! Please.”

He just wept, and rocked with her. He didn’t know how long.

Eventually the torrential flow was a bit smaller. And then a bit smaller still.

“Please let me take it back,” he whispered.

He felt Nat’s arms around him. He looked in her eyes.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry.”

“I know that, James.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered.

He leaned his face against hers... forehead to forehead. 

An unspoken bond existed between the two of them, just as it had from the beginning. The same but different. Stronger than ever now. Some prayers are better left unspoken.

This is what it takes to survive, he thought.

He looked around. He was on a blanket on the floor now, her curled around him cradling him. Her skin felt cool against his.

He had stopped crying. A little while ago, he wasn’t sure he would. Nat reached partially away, and came back with another cold drink. He took a sip. He rested in her arms a little while. And he drank some more.

“What is this flavor?”

“Blue.”

He looked at her. “Blue is not a flavor.”

“It is now, old man.”

He might have been smiling at her but he wasn’t sure.

She stroked his hair again. “Will you very carefully stand for me?”

He nodded. They slowly got him to his feet.

“Do you want to see what I made on your back before I cover it?”

“Yesplease,” he whispered. She led him around a corner where some of the walls were finished. A mirror had been anchored to one. She turned on a light, and helped him position himself so he could see.

“I wanted something brand new on your skin, something that had life and beauty in it. See? They’re-”

“Crocuses. Your favorite flower.” The curves of red in his skin were simple, minimalist. But unmistakably a number of crocuses. Elegantly drawn.

“I’m a flower,” he said giddily. “I’m your favorite flower.”

He looked at his names on his arm again. James. Bucky.

He looked at her, and grinned.

“You. Are very high,” she sighed and brushed his cheek with the back of her fingers. “Come sit down before you fall down.”

“Mkay.”

Next thing he knew, he was sitting on the futon. He was exhausted... drained and open on the inside. Pleasantly empty.

He couldn’t even tell now what the new sensation was, but it made him shudder. He was glad he was sitting down. Nat applied something to his back, and put a bandage on it. She came around and did the same to his arm, smearing something orange on the cuts she made and bandaging them. 

Surgery antiseptic. The smell tried to unlock something unpleasant through his very pleasant haze. But it couldn’t quite accomplish it. Nat put the orange stuff there, it was supposed to be there. It was good. 

They were superficial cuts, he thought. Someone caring for such simple wounds for him felt strange. And hard to explain.

After several minutes of Nat’s ministrations - of feeling her soothing hands somewhere constantly on him - it felt strange to realize he didn’t feel her there anymore. It was strange and it was starting to make him a little nervous, before he realized the futon he was sitting on was being jostled.

He turned around to find her stretched out across half of it… warm and naked and beautiful and good. 

She patted the space next to her and he came to her.

He laid on his side, nestling his head into her chest. She wrapped arms and legs around him and stroked his hair, with little hums escaping her lips here and there. Bucky felt himself relax more. 

But suddenly something was very wrong. He couldn’t say what. He arched his back and grabbed her.

“You should…” He didn’t know what, but she should be doing something differently. “You shouldn’t stay.”

“I can stay.”

“No. It’s not safe. You can’t stay.”

“James,” she said gently and slowly. “James. I’ve got you this time. I’ve got you.” He was so concerned, and he didn’t know what to think. But she kept speaking to him. “I’ve got you right here in my arms. We’re safe. There’s no trouble.” Her voice sounded so patient, so kind. “You don’t have to go anywhere. I don’t have to go anywhere. Just stay here in my arms.”

“Are you okay?”

“I am.”

“No, I mean…” He struggled for something. “Are you... okay?”

She understood. “Yes. I am okay. Listen.” She caressed his cheek. “Come here and listen.”

He came to her again, this time resting his ear on her chest. Her heartbeat was slow and strong.

She wasn’t afraid. He was beginning to understand.

“Then… you’re okay.”

“Yes.”

“I can stay here.”

“Yes. Stay right here.”

“I can stay here.” He took her in his arms and they held each other tightly. “I can stay here.”

“Yes.”

“We don’t have to go. We can stay here.” The tension his body held began unspooling as he lay next to her.

“We’ll stay here,” she replied. “No trouble. No worries.”

“Here.”

He kept as close to her as he could, but pulled himself up to rest his head on a pillow. He wanted to see her face.

They laid there, in the quiet. He drank her in, awash in her presence. They would do one more thing tonight that he had fantasized about, seemingly forever. They’d fall asleep in each others’ arms for the first time. 

He didn’t know what to do with this much happiness. He dreamily reached for the right words.

“You… you have a really goofy smile on your face. Really goofy.”

Her eyes lit up. “You’re so fucking romantic.”

“I know.” He looked at her earnestly and carefully, and asked, “What do you call a water bird who can’t fly and can’t swim?”

She squinted at him.

“A pelican’t.”

She glared.

“How do you charge a duck for what it drinks?”

“Stop.”

“You put it…” Bucky started laughing. “You put it on its bill!”

She rubbed her face with some considerable force.

He couldn’t stop laughing. “What happens when…” He was having a hard time breathing again. “What happens… when a frog... parks illegally?”

“He gets toad?”

Bucky guffawed.

“Okay you're seriously not right in the head. None of those are funny.”

“They are incredibly funny. You just have bad taste.”

“The man in my bed right now is criticizing my taste.”

“You're just making my point for me now, sweetheart.”

She sighed. “Wait right here.”

“Okay, okay, I'll stop making jokes,” he said feebly. “Don’t goooo.”

Nat climbed over him... slowly... and climbed off the futon in search of his clothes. She'd picked up his pants and now stood with her back turned, fussing with them.

"If you're reaching for my belt I'm gonna have to plead for mercy."

"No, no belt tonight. You are not in any state for anything else. I was just curious. I thought... yyyep."

Something glinted in her hand. She climbed back over him, taking her time again. Then she curled into him, and held her hand up to dangle a silver pendant on a chain.

"You and your everything symbol," she smiled.

He had found the pendant with an infinity sign on it just a couple months after the helicarriers fell. He didn't know then why he bought it or what it meant. Eventually all the memories had come flooding back. Mr. Harris' math class, in Brooklyn, where he was astounded at the thought of one symbol to mean "without any bounds or limitations." A symbol for expansiveness. One mark that meant every gentle day at the beach, every flash of love he'd ever had, every first green of the spring after bad winters. A symbol for everything. Sort of.

And eventually he remembered drawing it on Natalia, years ago, without knowing why. It amused her now to no end that he had found the pendant so early in his recovery and kept it with him, everywhere he went.

"I like my everything,” he said. 

She smiled at him. His heart skipped a beat.

“Hey!” He just remembered. “The sound.”

“What?”

“The noise. You told me on the phone there was a noise I make.”

“Yes!!” Her face lit up like a Christmas tree. “You still make the noise! It’s fantastic! I’m the happiest woman alive.” They smiled at each other.

He held the pendant in his hand and curled up with her again.

They stayed that way. He started to fade, and opened his eyes again to check that she was there. She was. The first and second time he checked, she was awake and watching him. The third time happened much later, he thought, and she had fallen asleep too. He nuzzled her and she pulled in tighter without waking up. He could once again feel her heartbeat. And he drifted away again.

Asleep. In her arms.

**Author's Note:**

> NOTE ON PUNCHING -- Okay I’m an educator type with kink experience and everything else here is decent technique, with ONE EXCEPTION. For the love of all that is holy, unless your loved one is a 99 year old WWII vet scientifically enhanced to take abuse, please just DO NOT PUNCH THEM IN THE STOMACH OR RIBS!!!! There are very important, very delicate pieces of ourselves that we all store in our abdomen. And ribs do crucial hard work every day, and shouldn’t be injured just for fun. If you want to explore erotic punching, definitely do further research than just this story. But also notice Nat’s blows to thighs and buttocks. Muscular, insulated areas *without* vital organs just behind them are the places for us non-super-soldier types to focus.
> 
> The great writer [FrostyEmma]() beta read this and helped me make it much better.
> 
> This is the conclusion of the series. I hope you enjoyed it, and thank you so much for reading. Comments warmly welcome!


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